


Her Broken Shard of the Past

by Languid_Victorian_Poetess



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Background Character Death, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, No Plot/Plotless, Original Fiction, this was supposed to be fluff and it's still angst i-
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26553496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languid_Victorian_Poetess/pseuds/Languid_Victorian_Poetess
Summary: Before Leo, someone else held Jezabel's heart. Sometimes, the shards of their memories still haunt her.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character





	1. A Room, July 1883

**Author's Note:**

> These are kind of old, but I'm 90% sure both of chapters are based off of something that happened in Jessica Jones and I just made it into this. (Also, spot the Greek myth/Hadestown reference...)
> 
> Just for reference, Jez is a vampire hunter/assassin and Dustin is a detective. Like everything else, this is based on my Dungeons and Dragons campaign, but set several years before it starts. Anyway, they have an established relationship and I'm really a slut for characters that can read each other without speaking, we don't have to talk about it.
> 
> Please enjoy!

They sat on her bed, her back to him. His hands were steady on the stitches, gentle on the cuts. Jez sat still too, absorbing the pain, letting it force her to alertness. Dustin always seemed to know when to show up and she wondered if James called him when he noticed her bloody prints on the cool tile or streaked on the bannisters. Or maybe Dustin could sense it. If she was being honest, she thought maybe it was a little bit of both.

He was quiet tonight. It was too easy to read into the silence. Old habits and all that. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the words, taste them on the tip of her tongue. It wasn’t bitter enough to be chastisement. Not fear either, he was too soft for that. His type of fear made him harder, sharper edges, the tang of new steel, metal, copper blood. Worry then. Or something deeper, fringing on other emotions.

The silence lurked on the fringes of cold and hard, metal beneath her skin, the pull of the needle, the chords of choked breaths, and the tearing of skin to heal. The bottle of brandy in her hand jilted and glistened like forgotten amber. The burn against the back of her throat was blunt and quick like a new wound. She sucked on her bottom lip and felt blood dance across her tongue to join the sharpness of the alcohol. Cold fingers, corpselike, ghosted her shoulder and she suppressed a shudder. She’d spent too much time amongst the dead to feel anything alive.

“I found her,” she said at last. The words fell flat, like dropping a coin into an empty well and hearing the wish of it die somewhere at the bottom. She raised the bottle and felt the brandy rake across her tongue, then down her throat, leaving behind smoldering embers. “She’s dead. Your girl. Sucked dry.”

“Shit.” Dustin answered and it was quiet. Dry. He’d known it was coming, but she heard the flinch in his voice anyway. The next bite of the needle bordered on too hard and she swirled the bottle to pretend she didn’t feel it. “Is that how-”

“Yeah. A den of them, at least six. Young enough to be slow on their feet. No sign of…  _ them _ .” She paused and felt the anger simmer in the pit of her stomach. She drowned it in another gulp of alcohol. “Sorry. I know you wanted to find her.”

“There was nothing you could do.” He tried on a smile, but she didn’t have to see his face to know it didn’t fit. His fingers ran across her skin, as though he was trying to smooth down the wounds until they were nothing but lingering scars. He lifted her hand and saw the bloody tips of her fingers, the smears against her knuckles, the shadows of the fight that would cease to haunt her soon enough. Looking death in the eye was easy when it wasn’t the past staring back. Dustin sighed and went back to work.

“There’s always something more you can do.” She said and remembered the flash of hair, like tendrils of morning light.  _ Eve _ .  _ Little star _ . Dustin heard the memories and pressed his lips to the veins of her wrist. Her heartbeat pulsed against his mouth and for the first time in days, she remembered to feel alive.

“Maybe,” he said against her skin.  _ But I know you and you gave her everything _ . She twisted her head to see him and he looked up at her through long brown lashes, eyes that reminded her of a dirty sunset. He was clean against her grit and grime, the silver scar on his neck a touch of reality. They’d walked the ninth circle of hell together and marched through brimstone to sunlight that felt more like fire than peace. Freedom wasn’t easy. No one ever remembered to record that in the books and histories.

He lifted his lips and his breaths still fell against her. They were undeservedly warm. Her injuries were forgotten. The alcohol slipped from her fingers and pulsed against the carpet like a third heartbeat. “Have you earned your peace yet?” He asked.  _ Your redemption? Your vengeance? _

“You don’t earn peace, you steal it.” _ No. I steal lives, not peace, you know that, you know that. _ Somewhere deep in the house, a door slammed shut. It resounded with the same finality of what would come next.

“How?” Dustin whispered and pushed a few strands of hair from her cheek to catch a glimpse of her eyes. It was their old dance, the steps more familiar than the rooms of her own house. Jez thought maybe she lived more in his wounds and gaps than in her parents’ mansion. But then again, she supposed he lived in her burnt scars and breathless nightmares, the places she couldn’t plug and forget. Home for the both of them was marching forward through hell, with the mistake of looking back to make sure the other was following. That was okay. It was better to fail to make the walk, as long as it wasn’t alone.

“Like this,” she said and twisted so their lips could meet. His hands were cold against her hips, and she placed two fingers on the underside of his wrist to feel his pulse. His breath broiled beneath the surface and his mouth opened to let her in. He tasted like ancient oak, a burdened feeling, but also like the first steps forward, crushed flowers of hope. He gripped her tight and she let herself fall closer.

“You taste like blood,” he said.

“Don’t I always?” She replied with a laugh. She let him push her onto the duvet and was grateful that the sheets were red so he wouldn’t notice when her stitches ripped. He kissed her again and slowly, steadily, the night blended into dawn.


	2. A City, October 1885

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, Jezabel and Dustin share a quiet moment in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is based off of a minor line in Jessica Jones and got turned into a short little thing. Also, it was supposed to be fluff and here we are anyway... Please enjoy!

She waited for him, as she always did, on the foggiest of nights in the shadows of the bridge. The fog coiled around her figure and muted the sounds of the city and river running beneath their feet. The glow of the lights were dim, more shadows and phantoms, casting the world into a cool darkness. The air was pre-winter frigid, breaths pluming, blending into the already present fog.

He approached on her right, muffled footsteps and light breaths. She did not turn to face him and he took note of her bunched shoulders beneath the thick layers. Tonight she was dressed in a long black velvet coat with silver clasps. Silver fur trimmed the collar and cuffs of her sleeves. A deep red, like an unpolished garnet, skirt hung to ankle height with a pair of black boots to keep her covered from the cold. Her hair, dark as the velvet of her coat, was draped down her back in soft waves that meant she’d just taken out the pins. The low lighting cast harsh shadows on already sharp angles, or perhaps it was just the firm set of her mouth or blood smudged along her jaw. Her eyes glittered, appearing ancient and endless, a twisting network of caves, full of secrets. He’d walked her paths enough to be familiar with the route he should take.

“Lady Blackwood,” he said and leaned his forearms against the stone. She did not flinch, the only sign of life was her eyes flicking to take him in.

“Mr. Smith,” she replied. Her voice did not tremble, but it was off, the wrong pitch like she’d been thrown off balance. “It’s good to see you.”

“Naturally, my lady, it’s a pleasure to see you as well.” He remained still, gauging her reaction. His coat billowed with a faint breeze and he loosened the cravat around his neck despite the chill. “Are you well?”

“Well enough,” she answered. Her heels scraped low against the cobblestone as she shifted. Her eyes remained pinned to the water as she struggled to avoid the weight of his gaze coming to rest on the blood beneath her jaw.

“Jez.” The word came out quiet and wreathed in the air between them, lingering like the fog. 

“It’s not bad.”

He didn’t answer and instead took a step closer. She held steady as he gently pulled the fabric away from her neck and examined the shallow cut. When their gazes met, he saw the lonely trails she was trying to hide. He said nothing, only moved his hand to cup her cheek.

“They got away,” she whispered at last. If she were another woman, she might have let him see her cry. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and leaned into his palm.

“Anything I can do?” He asked, though he knew the answer.

“No. I’ve got this, Dustin,” her voice bordered on cold, but he saw the light in her eyes and knew not to be led astray.

“I know you do.” They stood there in the silence and shadows for a long time. Her eyes closed and she covered his hand with her own. It was the closest she ever got to being soft.

“No one’s ever who you need them to be,” Jez said at last. A tear trembled on her lower lashes and he could see her fighting not to let it fall. 

“Who do you need me to be?” He took a step closer and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He lightly pressed a kiss to her forehead and felt her tear slide beneath his thumb.   
“Mine.” She buried herself in his arms, her head against the wool of his coat to feel his heart against her cheek. _It always reminds me that there’s at least one safe place in this world_ , she’d told him once, half asleep and tipsy. He held her close and she did not cry.

“Always.” He said. “Always.” They stood still in the quiet, letting the darkness swallow them both. At the first peak of dawn, some infinite moments later, she took his hand and led him home to tell him  _ I will always be yours and you will always be mine _ in the one way she knew how. And when she fell asleep, Dustin only tightened his hold against the shadows and ghosts that haunted her every step. It was the only way he knew how to give her the peace she deserved.

By the year’s end, he would have no arms to hold her and she would have no safe place. Always, as it turned out, had an ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope y'all have a lovely week!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter will probably be posted tomorrow (assuming I don't vanish into the wind again). Anyway, I'm hoping to finish a couple other fics and upload them in the near future, also maybe a timeline just to keep things organized, we'll see what happens.
> 
> Thank you again everyone! <3


End file.
